


How It Burns

by RoksanaLyasin



Series: How It Burns [2]
Category: Burn Notice
Genre: Action, Action & Romance, Action/Adventure, Adult Content, Alliances, Attraction, Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Chaptered, Childhood Memories, Childhood Trauma, Danger, Distrust, Drama, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Flirting, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Major Original Character(s), Minor Original Character(s), Original Character(s), Original Character-centric, Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net, Psychological Trauma, Romance, Safe Sane and Consensual, Sexual Tension, Slow Romance, Spies & Secret Agents, Trauma, Trust Issues, Uneasy Allies, multi-chapter fic, safe sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-10-12 15:41:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17470355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoksanaLyasin/pseuds/RoksanaLyasin
Summary: Alexia is ready to get out of the game. After experiencing numerous life and death situations and more broken bones than she can count, she's decided it's time to lay down her poison phials and settle. She's even found her slice of Miami heaven - or so she thinks. Just when her house is starting to feel like a home, she bumps into one of the few spies with a more notorious reputation than herself; the infamous burned spy Michael Westen.Life as a burned spy hasn't been easy, but the endless surprises are what really do Michael's head in. Just when he's getting into a routine helping Miami locals with their unusual problems with his two best friends by his side, he runs into a ghost from his past life. Cunning, meticulous, and just a little vicious, she disappears as quickly as he finds her - until an unknown enemy proves to be her match, hunting her with dogged determination. Michael can only hope she's willing to admit she needs help before it's too late.





	1. Sabotage

**Author's Note:**

> This is the second out of a number of old fanfictions which I am working on rewriting and republishing. Originally written in 2010, it is one of the earliest chaptered fics on my FF.net account. As I rewrite this fic, I will be adjusting aspects of the narrative and characters, adding new scenes and chapters, and further developing character relationships. I've decided to keep the same chapter structure as the original story, so some may be shorter than usual. Generally, my stories average ~3,700 words, but these chapters will average ~2,000. I'm hoping, though, that this will allow me to post updates faster despite my busy schedule. 
> 
> If this is your first visit to this story, I hope you enjoy it! If, however, you were a fan of the old FF.net version, I hope you'll enjoy this new incarnation!

* * *

**Chapter One  
** **Sabotage**

 

_London, 2006_

Despite the hint of adrenaline beginning to seep through her veins, her heartbeat was steady as she followed the voices down the long concrete corridor, the click of her heels echoing against the stark walls.

She was expected. The four men in the room ahead would hear her approach – she was counting on that. She was counting on their heady anticipation, on the trust she’d spent months building.

Without so much as a knock, she flung a set of double doors wide. She strolled into the dimly lit room; minimally furnished, the focus of the chamber was a large circular table. Four men leant their elbows upon the polished oak, and as her heels hit the tiles they looked up from their card game. She smiled wickedly, adding an extra sway to her hips. She easily caught their gazes with her coat hanging open to reveal a low cut, shimmering red crop-top which could pass for lingerie, her short leather skirt leaving little to the imagination.

They’d never know how she’d earned the sculpted the body they now salivated over.

‘Ah, Eloise, I hoped you would join us,’ Mark said, blue eyes wandering lower with every word. ‘I must say, you certainly do know how to capture a man’s attention.’  

Mark was handsome enough, though his features were a little sharp for her tastes, but his appearance mattered little to her. Mark was little more than a target, his open perusal not even significant enough to flatter. Still, she needed to act her part – the alluring, wild damsel in need of a man to snatch her up and pin her down. Much as she’d rather swallow the words, they glided easily off her tongue as she purred, ‘we all know that’s not all you want me to capture.’

The group laughed, Mark grinning without a hint of shame. ‘Can you blame me? I am but a simple man?’ His accent thickened, his eyes flashing with obvious arousal. He’d taken the bait.

‘Not at all,’ she answered, her accent as natural as his. She stepped behind him, running her fingers over his shoulders to his front, a shiver darting down his spine when she dug her nails into his chest. He reached up, grasping her hand, bringing it to his lips. She allowed him to nibble on the tips of her fingers, let him fall deeper into her trap.

‘You should concentrate on your hand.’ She leant closer, brushing plumped lips across the shell of his ear. ‘You can concentrate on me later.’

He turned his head subtly towards her. ‘Can I?’

‘I think we both know,’ she whispered, ‘that we’ve waited long enough.’

The graze of her teeth against his skin seemed to convince him. His lips lingered on her knuckles a moment longer before he relinquished his hold, turning his attention back to his cards and allowing her to slink back and observe.

The four men returned to their ‘shop talk’, unconcerned by her presence. It was in meetings like this that she’d first learned all their names, then their business structure and, finally, their deepest and darkest secrets as she infiltrated their lives.

They ranged in ages from twenty-six to thirty-two, and each was a genius among their peers. They held incredible knowledge, knowledge that had so far earned them each a substantial fortune. Knowledge that had led to the deaths of many, though they cared little for collateral damage. They saw themselves as untouchable, free from consequences. The very same attitude which had allowed them to build their empire would be their downfall.

It had been easy enough to weasel into their operation, and it would be easier still to bring about its end. Each night, they sat down to their game of cards and discussed the day’s business. At eleven, drinks were served. They’d never think twice about her handling the glasses, not when they believed she was devoted to their cause.

The minutes ticked by, the hour approaching. Every so often, when Mark glanced back at her, she would shift and slide her legs to draw his gaze to her short skirt or lean forward, offering a tantalising peak beneath the satin top. Every look she gave him, every teasing action served to draw him deeper and deeper under her thrall, one that she had worked hard to create without crossing her rigid boundaries.

Right on time, a knock sounded on the door.

‘Enter,’ Mark called absently, his focus on his hand.

The doors opened and the server wheeled a silver cart forward, his gaze averted from the men as he entered without a word. As he began preparing the drinks, Alexia studied his face. She’d seen him before; he’d started working in the hotel above recently and often worked the late shift. Being a newbie, it must have been easy enough to force the regular task on him – _want to keep your job? Then run these down and don’t tell anyone about the crime lords hanging out in the old staff area._

Though she’d seen his face more than a dozen times she’d never paid him much attention, his visits being so brief. He had strong features, though not as sharp and harsh as Mark’s, and there was a sweetness to his appearance, a boy-next-door quality that emerged in his sky blue eyes and soft lips that were made for a charming smile. He wasn’t stocky, either; he looked lean, his six-foot frame well-proportioned.

She allowed herself to study him a moment longer, waiting for him to finish pouring the drinks before she unfolded herself from her chair and approached.

‘I’ll take it from here,’ she said silkily, flashing him a wicked smile.

‘Are you sure?’ His voice was deeper than she expected, a rich tenor tinged with a hint of Irish.

‘Let’s just say they like a little… feminine touch.’ She brought a glass to her lips and took a sip, her red lipstick leaving a vivid print on the glass. His eyes lingered on the stain a moment, then he offered a curt nod before he excused himself from the room. 

She waited, counting. Once she was sure he’d be up three flights of stairs she glanced over. All four men were still fixated on their cards and became even more so as the stakes rose. She moved as if adjusting her bra, slipping her finger into the top of the cup to extract a thin plastic tube barely the size of a toothpick. She split the top with her nails, then traced the edge along the rim of the glasses, leaving the finest trace of liquid.

Colourless, tasteless, odourless, and deadly.

Perhaps poison was cliché, coming from a woman, but it was by far the most effective method to drop unsuspecting targets fast – certainly much better than trying to pull a gun when she was outnumbered. She was adept with all types, so much so that her use of poison had shaped her reputation in the intelligence community, making her one of the most feared operatives in the Northern hemisphere and earning her the title ‘Viper’. Though she despised the name, she supposed there were worse alternatives.

She sauntered over to the table, setting a drink beside each man. Like clockwork, they took up their glasses and sipped at the amber coloured scotch, oblivious to the added ingredient. She trailed her hand over Mark’s shoulder as she stepped around him, and as she leant on the table her tight skirt rode up before his eyes.

He gulped down another mouthful of his drink. ‘We’re almost done here, I’d say.’ A light sheen of sweat was appearing on his brow, and he reached up to loosen his tie. ‘Once I clean out Cliff, that is. Perhaps you’d like to come back to mine for a night-cap.’ 

‘I can’t convince you to come with me now?’

He read into the words exactly as she’d believed he would, his gaze following her as she pushed off from the table and started towards the door. He smiled at his comrades, laying his cards down before he rose, but he’d only taken two steps towards the double door before the first sign of her treachery announced itself: a glass hit the floor, the shatter snapping his attention back to the table.

‘Cliff?’

Cliff had slumped forward, cheek resting against the polished surface. Mark rounded the table, lifting the blonde’s head by the hair.

‘Cliff, what’s gotten into you?’ He patted the man’s cheek, the sheen on his brow more pronounced now. ‘Cliff?’ With a shaking hand, he reached for his friend’s neck.

‘Fuck,’ he whispered, releasing his grip on Cliff’s hair, the man’s head bouncing on the table with a heavy _thud_. ‘Fuck,’ Mark said again, glancing at his companions, ‘he’s dead.’

‘What do you mean he’s dead?’ Jason, the youngest of the group asked, dark eyes wide with fear. He almost jumped out of his skin as another _thump_ sounded, the table vibrating from the blow as Erik succumbed to the poison. Mark made to reach for him but with the first step he doubled over, landing hard on his hands and knees as his stomach lurched.

‘It’s quite bracing, isn’t it?’

He glanced up, finding Alexia’s gaze in the shadowy room. She didn’t flinch when Jason met his fate only a moment later, her face a steely mask as she stared at the scene dispassionately.

‘It seems you got a weaker dosage,’ she said, ‘but it will take you soon enough.’

‘You– you bit–’ Mark tried to snarl, but the words caught in his through, his mouth filling with bile. He swallowed hard, coughing against the pain, eyes watering as he said, ‘you’ll pay for this, Eloise.’

‘I’m sorry, but I don’t think I know an Eloise. Neither do you, it seems.’

Mark opened his mouth once, twice, trying to sputter out a final word, but it was no use. His eyes glazed over and his limbs gave way. He collapsed on the cold tiles, gaze fixed on her feet. It had been a painful death, far more so than it should have, but she did not regret the method – knowing that four more death mongers had been swept off the streets in a matter of minutes served nicely to satisfy her conscience.

She turned on her heels, closing the door behind her. It was finally time for Eloise Jefferson to disappear and for Alexia Tempest to go home.

* * *

Michael gripped the weapon firmly in his hand, finger beside the trigger as he ventured back down the damp, musty service corridor. He pressed himself against the wall when he heard the double doors open, watching from the shadows as Eloise exited. She headed in the opposite direction, stretching her arms languidly above her head and rolling her wrists.

He was as surprised as he was relieved that she was alone. Over the nights he’d seen her with the four, he’d wondered about her. She’d appeared so suddenly, worked her way into their routine, but he’d dug up nothing suspicious on her; she was just a gold-digger, a woman along for a ride and the thrill of danger that a man like Mark Denison could offer.

He waited until she disappeared around the corner at the end of the corridor before he made his final approach. He paused beside the door, preparing to step through and take down his targets, completely unaware that Alexia had already cleaned house.


	2. Acquaintances

**Chapter Two  
** **Acquaintances**

 

_Miami, 2011_

_Alexia Tempest, what are you doing?_

Her knuckles hovered in front of the door. She’d been living in the street for just shy of three months. So far, she’d kept a low profile, but it seemed the neighbours weren’t entirely keen on that idea. So, here she was, accepting an invitation to join a stranger for coffee and cake. After spending so many years on the move, this went against all of her instincts. The very thought of being settled made her stomach churn with a disturbing mixture of sheer terror and utter excitement, but being settled was the thing she’d craved most, the thing now possible since she’d secured enough money in secret accounts to last her a couple lifetimes.

The one house Alexia had felt safe in when growing up was in the neighbourhood over; the owners had long since passed on, but she’d always planned to come back to the area. She’d reminded herself of that the night before as she debated if she’d made the right choice in accepting the invitation for coffee and, after a half-hour of going back and forth in her head, she’d finally come to decide that it was time to get to know someone – _anyone_ – who didn’t have an intelligence background. If that meant getting to know the lovely older lady a half block down the road, then so be it.

The truth was, though, that she hadn’t had a friend since early childhood. Was she so desperate for companionship that she’d cling to the first person who offered?

She was starting to think so.

She didn’t know anything about this woman, apart from a name, but when she’d introduced herself to Alexia the afternoon before, she’d smiled so brightly it was infectious, and though her voice was a little gravelly from years of smoking, there was a sweet ring to it. Alexia had sensed a deep kindness in her heart, a genuine desire to welcome a new person to the neighbourhood. It might have seemed odd to Alexia – she’d never had a chance to stay long enough to become part of a community – it was nevertheless nice to think someone wanted her to feel at home.

Alexia finally knocked on the door, a part of her still determined to question her actions, but it was too late to back out when a voice called, ‘who is it?’

‘It’s Mia,’ she called back. The name rolled off her tongue as if she’d been given it at birth. If anyone looked into her, it would look like it, too.

As she waited, listening to bustling footsteps through the wood, she tucked a few stray curls of chestnut coloured hair behind her ears, the strands rebelling in the morning humidity. She glanced over her shoulder for a moment, glad to be standing undercover as the summer sun beat down on the city. She turned back to the door just as it swung open and pulled on her sweetest smile, though she couldn’t match the brightness in Madeline’s sparkling gaze.

‘So good to see you,’ Madeline said, waving Alexia into the house without a moment of hesitation. ‘Come in! Do you prefer coffee or tea? I just made a fresh batch of ice tea.’

‘It’s the perfect day for ice tea,’ she said, following the woman into the house. Madeline bustled into the kitchen, leaving Alexia standing awkwardly on the other side of the bench. She leant as casually as she could, watching as Madeline pulled down a pair of tall glasses from the cupboard. She placed them on the counter beside Alexia before she made her way to the fridge.

‘I picked up a lovely slice at the bakery this morning.’ Madeline paused at the fridge, the jug of iced tea in her hand. ‘You’re not allergic to blueberries, are you?’

‘Thankfully not. I love blueberries.’

Madeline’s smile broadened as she bumped the fridge closed with her hip. ‘So does my eldest,’ she said, pouring their iced tea. She passed Alexia a glass, and Alexia took a grateful sip; she was parched even from the short walk in the searing summer heat.

‘This is delicious.’

‘I’ll give you the recipe,’ Madeline said, sliding a plate with a large piece of blueberry slice over to Alexia. ‘Come, we’ll sit at the table.’

Alexia followed Madeline’s lead, settling herself into one of the seats around the large family table. ‘Thank you for inviting me over, Madeline.’

‘Please, call me Maddie,’ she said as she, too, settled into a chair. ‘It’s the least I could do to welcome you to the neighbourhood. When did you move in?’

‘A couple months ago now.’

‘Really? I’m surprised we haven’t run into each other earlier!’

‘I’ve been so busy unpacking I’ve not really been out of the house except to go to work,’ Alexia lied smoothly. The truth was, she was so unused to engaging in genuine small talk that she’d been avoiding it altogether.

‘Well, I’m glad I could be the first to give you a proper welcome,’ Maddie said, smiling brightly again. The woman could light up the world with that look. ‘So, tell me a little bit about yourself. What do you do for work?’

‘I’m a designer. Websites, mostly. I’m about to start my own business, actually. Or I’m hoping to.’ It wasn’t _technically_ a lie. She was quite adept with computers, after all, and could certainly make a living from such work. It was just… she didn’t _have_ to. Mostly, she needed some sort of cover story and saying she had plans to be gainfully employed was better than admitting she had loaded accounts in multiple tax havens.

‘Good on you. You must be very excited. New house, new neighbourhood, new business – so many new adventures!’

Yep, Maddie’s smile was definitely infectious.

‘I… I hadn’t thought of it that way, to be honest,’ Alexia admitted. ‘Between quitting my old job and moving to Miami, I’ve not had time to take it all in.’

Adulthood had been a constant stream of ‘adventures’ if you could call them that. The whole point of settling down was to have some quiet time, but she supposed that in some ways the change was an adventure in its own way.

‘Where did you’ve move from, if you don’t mind my asking?’

‘Not at all. I spent the last few years in Minneapolis.’

_As well as nine other states and twenty-four other countries,_ Alexia thought, but it was probably best to leave that out.  

‘Quite the change, going north to south,’ Madeline said, smirking knowingly. ‘How are you handling the heat?’

‘Poorly.’ Alexia motioned towards her curling hair, making the pair of them laughed.

‘That’s why I keep mine short. Can’t notice it sticking up at odd angles if it’s already– oh shoot!’ Madeline stared up at the clock then checked her watch just to be sure. ‘Michael forgot. Again!’

‘Michael?’

‘Sorry, dear. My eldest son, the one who likes blueberries. I asked him to come over this morning to look at my car before I have to head to an appointment this afternoon.’

‘What’s wrong with your car?’

‘I’m not sure but it’s been idling very rough lately.’

‘I know my way around cars. Maybe I could take a look for you. It’s the least I could do after you’ve been so accommodating,’ she said, lifting her near-empty glass.

‘Thank you, dear. I appreciate the offer.’ A tired smile came over Maddie’s lips. ‘But it’s–’

‘More than that,’ Alexia finished. ‘I know.’

Madeline reached out, patting Alexia’s hand, and Alexia felt Madeline’s gratitude in the gesture. Maybe this was what friendship felt like. At least the start of one, anyway. Was it foolish to hope?

There was a solid knock at the door, the pair glancing over.

‘That might be him now,’ Alexia suggested.

‘Better late than never, I guess.’ Maddie rose from her chair. ‘Help yourself to some more tea; it’s on the counter. I’ll be right back.’

Alexia didn’t need to be told twice. She hopped up to refill her glass, making a mental note to get the recipe off Maddie. She listened to Madeline open the front door and greet two men as she poured her drink. A slice of lemon flowed out with it, splashing the counter with tea. She cursed under her breath, standing the jug upright and rushing around into the kitchen for a cloth the clean up the mess.

A smooth voice carried through the house to her. ‘Look, I’m sorry Ma, but we couldn’t let Fi go alone. That guy is a lunatic on the best of days, and with the way Fi deals she could easily have set him off. She needed back up whether she would admit it or not.’

‘Michael...’

‘I couldn’t call. They’re very angry people, and they tend to jump to conclusions.’

‘He’s right, Madeline.’

‘Sam, that’s not what I’m–’

Alexia quickly wiped the counter and returned the cloth to the sink. The voices were drifting closer.

‘I know I said I would be here but Fi is in enough danger as it is thanks to some new Russian friends. The last thing she needs is to be going to a deal when there are some–’

‘ _Michael_ ,’ Madeline said. Her voice sounded cheery, but Alexia caught the hard edge in her tone. ‘I’d like you and Sam to meet my friend, Mia.’

Alexia stopped dead beside her seat and silence descended, broken only by Madeline’s footsteps as she went to the kitchen to fetch more glasses. If Alexia was paying attention she might have caught the pointed look Maddie threw back at the two men on her way to the other room, but she was too distracted, her thoughts beginning to spiral.

She was in Madeline Westen’s house. Madeline Westen, who had a son named Michael. Michael Westen. Oh, she’d heard that name before, had heard it whispered through the intelligence community over and over, had heard it whispered with the most terrifying word a spy can ever hear.

_Burned_.

The name wasn’t what had her mind kicking into gear, though. After all, there could be any number of Michael Westens in Florida. No, what kicked her mind into gear was one simple, undeniable fact.

She’d seen him before.

_The doors opened and the server wheeled a silver cart forward, his gaze averted from the men as he entered without a word. As he began preparing the drinks, Alexia studied his face. She’d seen him before; he’d started working in the hotel above recently and often worked the late shift._

_Though she’d seen his face more than a dozen times she’d never paid him much attention, his visits being so brief. He had strong features, though not as sharp and harsh as Mark’s, and there was a sweetness to his appearance, a boy-next-door quality that emerged in his sky blue eyes…_

She hadn’t recognised his voice because she hadn’t truly known it, his accent a mask like hers had been. But there was no denying that she’d looked into that piercing gaze before. 

He offered his hand, a smile coming over his lips that, even in her moment of utter panic was as charming as she’d thought it would be all those years ago.

‘Michael,’ he said. She accepted his hand, his grip firm and sure. When he released her, he clapped a hand on the other man’s shoulder, still smiling. ‘And this is my friend Sam.’

Sam was quite a bit older than Michael – weathered, really. Although his hair was silvered and his belly fuller than it might have been in his youth, she could see the hard edge in his playful gaze, as if he were assessing her. She guessed he’d done training of some form, though from a mere look she couldn’t tell whether it was military, naval, or other.

Sam took her hand into his, his smile holding the same playfulness as his gaze. ‘Nice to meet you.’

‘You too,’ she said, trying to muster a smile as bright as his or Madeline’s, though she knew that was impossible when she was standing mere feet from Michael Westen, a man with a reputation as notorious as hers in the intelligence community. More so, since he’d been burned.

And his mother had been disappointed just like any other that he was late.

Alexia wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the thought. Of course, he had a family – most spies did, even the most dangerous ones. Of course, most spies also had friends. But the whole situation was so… normal.

And all the while a part of her brain was screaming _run_.

‘Thank you for the tea, Maddie,’ Alexia said as the woman left the kitchen.

Madeline’s smile dropped as she set a tray on the table, the glasses shaking nervously beside two more plates of blueberry slice. ‘Are you leaving already?’

Alexia smiled sadly. ‘Yes. I should get back home. I’ve got a phone hook-up soon.’

‘For your business? Oh, of course. You are such a busy girl.’ Madeline took Alexia’s arm, walking her to the door. ‘You pop by anytime.’

‘I will,’ Alexia said as she stepped onto the porch. ‘Thanks again for the tea.’

Madeline offered her an effortless smile, one Alexia could never hope to match. With a final goodbye, Alexia turned on her heel. She took measured steps, maintaining an air of calm even as adrenaline began to pump through her veins, images of Michael following her down the street flashing in her mind. He had to be angry about the London job but surely he wouldn’t hold a grudge that long.

Would he? 

Just when she thought she’d found somewhere to settle down it looked like she’d have to move again. Even if Michael had forgotten about London, he was burned. She had no idea what he’d do to get his burn notice wiped, how desperate he might be. He might see her, an ex-spy, as a ticket back in when she had no intention of returning to that world.

As nice as it had been to meet Madeline, to bask in her company, she couldn’t risk being recognised – not now. She needed her anonymity more than ever.

Alexia paused, glancing back down the road. She hoped one day she could feel without fear, but she suspected that day was many years away.

‘Thanks for the tea, Maddie.’


	3. Memories

**Chapter Three  
** **Memories**

 

Michael stood awkwardly beside the table, watching his mother in the kitchen. He knew he was the cause of her sharp movements and sudden cleaning frenzy, and that it would take a few minutes for her to calm down. In the meantime, he decided to help where he could until she was ready to talk about her car. He picked up the glass Mia had left, which was still half-full of iced tea after her hasty exit.

He walked around the counter, resisting the urge to grumble when Madeline snatched the glass from his hand to tip the contents down the empty half of the sink, juggling a large plate she’d been drying in her other hand.

Michael glanced to the ceiling, praying for patience before he stepped around her. He snatched the glass back and gently nudged her aside to do the dishes, and Madeline abandoned her drying. ‘I better go get the other plates,’ she muttered, dropping the dishtowel on the counter and heading into the lounge. She wouldn’t speak to him for at least two more minutes.

The water gurgled as he dunked the glass. As he went to scrub the rim, his eyes caught on the lipstick mark and he stared at it for a moment, bringing it out of the suds to examine the pale print.

‘Mum… what did you say that girl’s name was?’

‘Mia,’ came the terse reply as she returned to the kitchen with a couple plates.

He paused, glancing at her. ‘Are you sure?’

She eyed him angrily. ‘Of course I’m sure Michael.’ She planted her hands on her hip. ‘I might be old, but my memory isn’t shot _yet_.’

Okay, he deserved that. He returned to the washing, glancing down before she could bore holes through his head with her intense stare. He placed the cup aside, watching it float in the water as he wracked his brain for an answer. He reached absently into the sink in search of the sponge, but in his inattention, he sliced his finger on a knife hidden beneath the suds. He examined the cut, frowning as blood flowed freely from the clean edges of the wound. A few drops fell as he watched, each one landing on the mug. The vibrant drops clung to the lipstick and he was hit again by a strong sense of déjà vu, so strong it felt like a blow to his chest, but his mother interrupted his thoughts before he could fully grasp the memories.

‘Oh shoot!’

‘What is it ma?’ he asked absently as he wiped his hands then pressed a piece of paper towel to the cut, the pressure soon stemming the bleeding.

She picked up a note from the counter, frowning at it. ‘I was going to give Mia a copy of my iced tea recipe. I thought it might help her get through the week, what with it forecast to be so hot and humid.’

‘You said she’s just down the road, right?’

‘Yes, yes. In the old Fitzsimmons house,’ she said, smiling at him for the first time since he’d arrived.

‘I’ll run it to her,’ he said, grabbing the piece of paper and jogging out the kitchen. As he passed Sam, who’d taken a seat at the table rather than get involved in the family tension, he pointed an accusing finger at his friend. ‘My slice better be here when I get back,’ he said, and by the look Sam gave him, he knew the man had been thinking about sliding the second plate over.

Michael jogged out the door, glancing left. He caught sight of her immediately, her vibrant sapphire-blue sundress a beacon in the sunlight. He picked up his pace, those same memories flooding him again, and as he got closer he took the chance, shouting, ‘Eloise.’

Her steps faltered a moment and she glanced over her shoulder. The second she saw him running towards her, she bolted. The wedges she was wearing did nothing to hinder her; he could do little more than keep pace, watching as her hair trailed around the corner after her.

He skidded around the corner, barely seven seconds behind her, yet she was nowhere to be seen. She should have been easy enough to spot in such a vibrant dress.

_She must have gone down a driveway_ , he thought, slowing down. He glanced into each yard until he reached a towering hedge that blocked his view entirely. That yard was the most likely place for her to hide on such short notice, the thick hedge providing the best cover. He knew he’d have to look into the yard further down at the gate.

He approached slowly, ready to lean around the hedge and peer over the white picket gate, but when he lifted his foot to take another step she pushed a loop of hose through the leaves, catching his ankle and yanking his foot out from beneath him. He threw his hands out, managing to protect his head from the fall, but he still landed hard on the concrete. His breath whooshed from his lungs, dazing him just long enough for her to vault over the low gate.

He lay stunned on the pavement a moment longer before he planted his forearms, intending to stand up, but before he could raise himself even an inch he felt the cool tip of a blade press against the back of his neck. He spread his arms out, laying them flat.

‘One wrong move and I force this between your C4 and C5 vertebrae.’ Her voice was steady, fierce. There was no question in his mind that she’d follow through with the threat.

‘I mean you no harm,’ he said, turning one hand so the palm faced up. He opened it, revealing the crumpled note. ‘My mother forgot to give you her iced tea recipe.’

She snatched it from him, but she didn’t look at it. She was contemplating her next move, realised she’d played her hand ambushing him like this.

Surely she remembered him?

Deciding he could risk a question or two, he asked, ‘spent some time in London by any chance?’

‘A little,’ she hedged. ‘It was a few years ago now, though.’

‘I’ve been there myself. 2006. I didn’t get to do as much sightseeing as I’d hoped,’ he said. She was silent for a moment, so he pushed on. ‘I think we had a mutual friend. Someone by the name of Mark Denison.’

Though he thought he heard her mutter a curse under her breath, the blade didn’t move, the sharp tip still pressed firmly against his spine.

Michael sighed. ‘Look, I didn’t recognise you at first. I had to be sure. But I’m rather regretting it at this moment,’ he said through gritted teeth, and not just because his jaw was clenched in frustration – he’d sucked up a mouthful of dust from the footpath. ‘I really do mean you no harm. Mostly, I’m just curious.’

‘Where I grew up, curiosity could get people killed.’

_Rough childhood, then_ , he thought. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to work out his next move, a plan forming. He just hoped it wouldn’t result in him getting an unpleasant spinal adjustment.

‘Alright,’ he said, muscles tensing in preparation, ‘let me rephrase, then…’

Michael raised his arm, sweeping it back in a flash of motion. He landed his elbow against her knee, and although pain ricocheted up his arm, the blow knocked her back. He rolled away, standing up as she did. He held his hands up, palms open.

‘If you’re looking for an apology you’re not going to get one,’ she said. ‘You had your assignment, I had mine. I just finished the job faster.’

He pursed his lips. ‘That’s not what I mean.’

‘Then what do you want, Michael?’ she asked, ‘to talk about the weather?’

Before he could quip back at her she struck. He raised his arm, blocking her first blow, her second. ‘Stop!’ he snapped, catching her wrist in his hand. He could squeeze until the pain forced her to release her blade, but he figured he could reason with her, so he only tightened his grip just enough to keep her from twisting free. It seemed to work; fire burned in her gaze but she paused her assault.

‘I just want to talk,’ he said. ‘Really. That’s all.’

She stared at him, and he was just beginning to think he’d finally gotten through to her when she slapped him hard across the face with her free hand, so hard that it felt like his teeth rattled in his jaw. He reached up instinctively, grazing his fingers across his cheek, and beneath the throb of the blow, he felt a sharper pain. At first, he thought she must have scratched him, but there was no blood on his hand when he looked at his palm, and as he gazed down the world became unfocused.

‘What…’ he tried to ask what she’d done, but his head seemed to grow, becoming heavier with every second. He dropped down to his knees, then onto his side, and the very earth seemed to spin beneath him.

‘Don’t worry, it’s just a sedative,’ she said as she hooked her elbows under his arms. She started dragging him through the gate. ‘You’ll wake up soon enough.’

‘Who… who carries a sedative…?’

‘I do,’ she hissed beside his ear, laying him down on the grass behind the hedge. ‘Sleep well, Michael.’

She waited until she was certain he was out before she made a break for her house. She had no doubts he knew where she lived. If Madeline had sent him her way with the recipe, she’d have told him her address.

In minutes, her go-bag was packed with a few final essentials. She raced to the front door, pausing for a moment on the threshold to look back into the house. The walls she’d just put picture hooks on were still bare, the old carved-wood staircase she’d fallen in love with at the showing half sanded in preparation for a new coat of polish. In that moment, she wondered if she were being too hasty. Michael had recognised her, had remembered what she had done, but more than anything he’d seemed curious. Mildly irritated, sure, which she thought was fair enough, but he hadn’t seemed hostile.

_Seemed_.

She shook off the thoughts, knowing that a spy as successful as Michael Westen would try to manipulate her like a puppet, make her believe he was willing to let bygones be bygones. She didn’t know him at all – she only knew of the things he had done, the stories around his name.

It was far too dangerous to stick around.

With a final longing look at her house, she stepped over the threshold, the address of one of her safe-houses already in her thoughts.

* * *

Michael blinked up at the sky, the bright sun beating down on his face. His jaw ached – his head too. Even as groggy as he felt, he managed to lift his arm and look at his watch. Thirteen minutes had passed since he’d left the house. Although it had only been a small dose of sedative, it had some killer side-effects.

He sat up tentatively. Thankfully, the world didn’t spin more than a few times, and he was soon on his feet. He thought about following her to her house but, instinctively, he knew she’d be long gone. If he wanted answers to the long list of questions that had built up over the years, he’d have to find her another way.

First on the list: Who was she? Second, how had she gotten in so quick? And how had she managed to kill the Four without a struggle?

His best guess was that she’d used poison, something advanced and powerful. In the short period after he delivered the drinks and before he returned, they had all succumb to the poison, each of the men slumped over the table or collapsed on the floor. The traces on the glasses and in the blood of the Four were slight; any normal lab tech would completely miss them. Only an advanced lab had been able to partially rebuild the compound. It broke down at such an incredible rate, they’d been lucky to discover as much as they had.

He’d heard whispers over the last decade of a spy who favoured poisons. Some called them the Viper. He’d never put much stock in those sorts of aliases – it was nothing more than a label designed to bolster and inflate a spy’s image – but it was true, also, that fear may have generated such a name. People fear the threat they cannot see more even than a gun or a knife, making poison the perfect weapon.

He paused at the door, brushing the dust off his shirt and pants. His cheek still hurt but it didn’t feel bruised – thankfully. Reasonably sure he was presentable enough, he made his way back into his mother’s house, his mind still twisting with thoughts as he returned to the kitchen. He picked up the glass, staring at the rim, the lipstick mark now washed away by the cooling water. 

‘Did you give Mia the recipe?’

‘Yeah,’ he said, finishing off the washing up. ‘What did you say Mia’s last name was?’

She arched an eyebrow at him. ‘I didn’t.’

‘Do you know? I have a feeling like I’ve met her before, but I’m not sure exactly where. I would have asked when I gave her the recipe but I didn’t want to keep her from her meeting.’

‘You could just ask her next time you see her, Michael. It’s about time you showed some interest in a woman.’

Sam snorted in the other room, and Michael had to grit his teeth to stop himself from snapping at his mother. ‘Could you just answer the question?’

Madeline stared at him as he dried his hands on the dishtowel. ‘Laidlaw,’ she said finally, ‘her last name is Laidlaw. Happy?’

‘Very.’ He plastered a smile on his lips. ‘How about I go look at your car?’

He didn’t wait for a reply. He looked through to the lounge, motioning for Sam to follow. The man looked reluctant to leave the table when a piece of the blueberry slice remained, but he did so.

There was no preamble when they reached the garage. The moment the door was closed, Michael said, ‘I need you to do some digging for me.’

‘Into what Mike?’

‘Mia Laidlaw,’ he said. ‘It’s an alias.’

Sam quirked an eyebrow at him. ‘You think Mia is a spy?’

‘Do you remember the London job I did, back in 2006?’

Sam’s brows drew together, though after a moment his eyes grew wide. ‘You think she’s the one who poisoned the Four? Come on, Mikey.’

‘I called out the alias she used then – Eloise – and she bolted. I chased her, and she ambushed me. She recognised me too.’

‘And by ambush, you mean–’

‘Ambush,’ Michael said firmly. He could tell Sam was in a mocking sort of mood and he wasn’t willing to be grilled just yet, not when his head was still throbbing. ‘Are you going to help me or not?’

‘Of course, Mike,’ Sam said, leaning up against the workbench. ‘But where do we start?’

Michael popped the hood on Madeline’s car. He stared into the greasy engine, knowing they had little to go on to begin with. ‘I guess with London,’ he said finally, grimacing as he checked the oil level, finding it disastrously low. ‘After I attend to this.’


End file.
